


The Trouble

by Deastar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Microaggressions, Racebending Revenge Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: The trouble is that he and Neal dress a lot alike – oh, Peter’s suits don’t fit half as well, and he hasn’t bought his own ties since he married Elizabeth, but the point is that when you have two men in suits standing in an office with only one real physical difference to distinguish between them, things like this happen.A scene from a racebent White Collar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the racebending revenge challenge YEARS ago, and never posted it because I thought it was too slight to stand by itself, but it's been hanging around my hard drive and I guess I've gotten a little more forgiving of my own shorter fics, so here it is.

The trouble is that he and Neal dress a lot alike – oh, Peter’s suits don’t fit half as well, and he hasn’t bought his own ties since he married Elizabeth, but the point is that when you have two men in suits standing in an office with only one real physical difference to distinguish between them, things like this happen.

“Caffrey,” the agent says, with a badly-hidden half-sneer, which would piss Peter off even if she were talking to Neal… but she’s not.

Neal looks confused – Peter just keeps his mouth shut and waits for the agent to dig her own grave. It’s not the first time this has happened.

“You are Caffrey, right?” The agent doesn’t wait for Peter’s answer before turning to Neal and saying, “You must be Agent Burke.”

Peter watches amusement crinkle up the corners of Neal’s eyes – they flick over to him, obviously waiting for Peter to clear up the confusion. When he doesn’t, Neal looks confused himself.

Peter can tell the exact moment when he gets it – Neal’s mouth tightens, and there’s a dark burn of anger behind his eyes, and even farther back, behind that, there’s surprise, and a flash of hurt.

It’s not the first time this has happened, it’s true – but it’s the first time Neal has been around for it, and noticed. To be fair, that’s partly because this is the first time Peter’s _let_ him notice.

“I’m Agent Peter Burke,” Peter tells the other agent calmly, trying to be too good a person to enjoy the _oh, shit_ expression on her face, and not quite making it there. Quietly, he says, “Why don’t you walk out that office door,” pointing, “and then walk back in and try this conversation over.”

The agent nods awkwardly, and starts backing out of the office door, just in time to back into Jones, whose coffee cup goes flying. Looking pretty thoroughly freaked out now, she starts babbling apologies and trying to dab at Jones’ coffee-stained tie with a Kleenex from her purse – Jones laughs, and waves her toward his office, saying something about paper towels and casually stripping off his jacket and tie.

There are days when Peter wouldn’t think anything of it, but it’s already on his mind, of course, so he can’t help thinking, _…in front of a white woman. In an FBI office, no less._ Nobody’s even paying attention.

Times _have_ changed. A lot. When Neal cranes his head out of the office door to spy on Jones and the female agent, and reports, “They’re totally flirting,” Peter’s not even surprised. Jones and Diana have their own crosses to bear – Diana especially, he knows – but the things they take for granted make him shake his head in wonder sometimes.

Peter came up at the Bureau in a different time – he’s the product of a different generation. He supposes it might be easy to resent Jones and Diana and Cruz and all the young agents who he’s trained and supervised through the years – some things are easier for them, it’s true.

But instead, Peter’s proud, watching them spread their wings – proud of them for not settling for the paths that Peter and his generation had worn down for them, but pushing farther and faster. He’s proud, just a little, of himself, of the fact that this will be his legacy when he retires someday – not just citizens safe and criminals behind bars, although that would be more than enough, but these young agents with so much to prove and so much fire to prove it with.

“So,” Neal says, not bothering to try and sound casual. “Are we… going to talk about this?”

“No,” Peter replies.

“She just assumed that _you_ were the criminal and _I_ —”

“I was there, Neal,” Peter says gently.

“This has happened before, hasn’t it?” Neal asks, leaning back against the wall and narrowing his eyes.

It’s probably a mistake, because there’s nothing more guaranteed to pique Neal’s interest than something he’s not allowed to know, but Peter sighs and says anyway, as carefully as he can, “This isn’t something… I can’t really talk about this, with… you.”

Not today, anyway. But, as Peter was just thinking earlier, times change.

Peter waits for the wheedling, for the pouting, for the bargaining, but Neal just lets his gaze unfocus for a minute, then nods slowly.

“You know,” he says after a minute, “that agent was probably here to do something a little more important than listen to Jones’ bad pick-up lines.”

“Good point,” says Peter, nodding decisively. “I nominate you to go find out what it was.” He sits down behind his desk and lets his mind settle back down into the case again, and ignores Neal’s whining, and stores it all away to tell Elizabeth over dinner.


End file.
